


Foiling the Tentacles

by Sheliak



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Eldritchfuck Roseworld, Eldritchfuck Roseworld - Ancestors Branch, Gen, Present Tense, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-08 04:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20305675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheliak/pseuds/Sheliak





	Foiling the Tentacles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caracalliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/gifts).

Their lives have changed, Darkleer knows, and likely for the better. But tentacles, apparently, are eternal. One is currently reaching for the Summoner’s already crumpled wing, intent on inflicting further torment. 

While thwarting the tentacles has never been wise, the small autonomous ones are not intelligent; they will not recognize the substitution of another victim, if it is done subtly. He tilts his horns to intercept it. 

As expected, it snares him and is content. 

The tentacle forces his head back. The force it exerts is not truly enough to force him to move, but he knows it is capable of worse, and submits. In his experience, the tentacles always get what they want in the end. 

Another tentacle, or perhaps a branch of the first one daintily touches his throat, twists thoughtfully around it and then squeezes. 

Suffocation becomes no more pleasant with repeated experience. But he knows defiance will cost him worse, and resigns himself to it. He expects it to leave him unconscious; the tentacles have done so before. 

But not, apparently, this time. Darkleer sees a blur of blue and olive before—with an explosion of eldritch viscera—he is able to breathe again. 

It’s only when he sees his Descendant hurry to to them that he realizes that it was Young Leijon who came to his rescue. 

It’s still surreal that his Descendant and the Disciple’s are on such good terms. Surreal, but hardly unwelcome.

“Nepeta, you should not eat that.” 

“‘That,’” apparently, is the mortal remains of a tentacle, which Young Leijon has in her teeth. A fine huntress, though young. He hopes she won’t pay too badly for it. 

“Mmmff,” Young Leijon argues. At least, that’s what it sounds like to him; his Descendant apparently understands her, because he informs her that the Handmaiden is not an appropriate role model. She ignores him, and manages to swallow most of the tentacle before it disintegrates. 

“Hey, man,” the Summoner is saying, “that looks bad.” 

Not nearly as bad as the Summoner’s wing, Darkleer tries to say, but his abused throat betrays him, and produces a hacking cough instead of words.

His Descendant looks concerned at that. “I will find Jane,” he says, and leaves. 

Darkleer staggers to his feet, meaning to find some corner to lick his wounds in—figuratively, of course. But the Summoner grabs him by the arm, and he freezes, afraid of causing an injury through clumsiness. 

“The kid went for a medic,” the Summoner says. “You’re staying here. She can’t do any good if she can’t find you.” 

They have never been friends, never allies. And the Summoner had led a rebellion against the Empire Darkleer served—and betrayed, of course, but to no strategic purpose or benefit. He should be happy to see Darkleer wounded, not looking at him with concern in his eyes. 

“Hey,” the Summoner says, as if he understands what Darkleer is thinking, “you did me a favor just then.” He smiles, and sits down. Breathing painfully, Darkleer joins him. 

Darkleer’s Descendant returns with one of the aliens, the same one who had tended to the Grand Highblood’s injuries the other day. 

“You must kneel so that Jane can reach your injury,” his Descendant orders. Darkleer obeys. Orders make far more sense than the rest of this situation. 

He flinches as the medic touches his bruised neck, and his horns gouge the floor. 

“Stay _still,_” she snaps at him. 

Young Leijon pounces and sprawls across his horns, the tension in her body spoiling her imitation of a purrbeast. 

She is afraid, as is only reasonable of a young troll in an ancient one’s presence. But she is still near him. And trying to see to it that he allows the medic time to work. 

These children are a wonder.


End file.
